She stole one more glance inside the carriage. The light from the street lamp streamed into the blackness and fell across his face. Unguarded, he appeared almost like the boy he used to be. In the center of his right cheek, a faint scar, the souvenir from the magpie, marred his skin. Such a defect didn’t diminish his beauty, only enhanced it as a sign of chivalry. He was the most devilishly handsome man in all of England.
Before the footman opened the carriage door and she lost her courage, Daphne leaned forward and placed her lips against that scar. The warmth of his skin and hint of evening bristles tickled her skin. No matter what life had in store for their individual futures, that fateful afternoon sixteen years ago had irrefutably intertwined their pasts together. He might not even remember the day, but she did.
It was the day he’d given her a heart-shaped rock. More important, he’d sacrificed his safety for her and that little bird. He’d put her and her beliefs before his own wants and needs. How times had changed. How they had changed individually over the years. He was a duke, a powerful one at that. She wondered if he was as selfish as rumors claimed. Tonight, he didn’t appear selfish in the least. He’d helped her.
There was little to be gained with such thoughts.
Now she was a spinster ready to take control of her own destiny, one that meant she’d give up her position in society and the promise of her own family and all that life entailed. Such a sacrifice was worth it if it helped save one woman from Alice’s fate.
The end of the night might very well be the last time she and Paul were ever alone together. As the patron of a home for unwed mothers, she shouldn’t dally with men, particularly Paul with his reputation. Yet tonight was different. Though she didn’t recover her journal, she did receive the precious gift of his kiss and the honor of all his attention devoted to only her, even if it was only for an hour. She’d remember everything about this night.
“Thank you for this evening,” she said against his warm skin. Slowly, she drew away, knowing she’d soon breach a distance that would break the magic between them. Inevitably, she turned toward the carriage door. More than anything, she wanted to tell him tonight meant the world to her. Tell him what his kiss meant to her.
“Daphne?” He reached for her and gently turned her face to his. “Are you upset?”
“No, not really.” She released a sigh. “I’ve much on my mind.”
With a creased brow, he nodded. “May I escort you in?”
She drew away from his touch. “There’s no need. Tait is waiting for me.”
“Indulge me. I’d like to.” Before she could decline, he hopped down from the carriage and held out his hand. “Please?”
Reluctantly, she took his fingers in his hers. In response, he squeezed hers gently almost in encouragement.
His eyes searched hers, and she prayed she’d safely hidden her longing and the accompanying sadness.
“Are you crying?” The tenderness in his voice was almost seductive. Who would believe that the Duke of Southart could actually be concerned for her feelings? “Is it because I kissed you? I apologize.”
He regarded her as if trying to discover all her secrets. In response, she stared back determined not to divulge anything. Yet his regard weakened her resolve.
This couldn’t be the man who’d insulted her sister-in-law or made an offer for her best friend out of the blue. He was the one person her brother found completely unacceptable.
But here—before her now—he acted like the perfect gentleman.
“That’s not it,” she said. She blinked while wrestling her wayward sorrow back into the carefully crafted vault she’d created in her heart. For good measure, she grinned as best she could. “If memory serves me, I’m the one that kissed you.”
“Immaterial details,” he said with a wave of his other hand. “I shouldn’t have done it, but at the time, I thought I was keeping you safe.…” He let his words drift to nothing.
“Please, let me take the credit. I’ll be the rakehell this evening,” she said dismissively. Without letting go of his hand, she started to walk toward the door.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Truth be told, I allowed myself to get carried away. I enjoyed kissing you.”
“Good, because I enjoyed kissing you.” She glanced at his face. His befuddlement had an endearing quality to it. To set him at ease, she continued, “Now let’s not mention it again.”
“Of course. A lady’s desires are always my top priority. But let’s make one thing clear.” He lifted a brow in challenge. “I’m the rakehell. You can be the big, bad scoundrel.”
“You can’t give up your title of a bounder for one evening?” she teased.
“Of course you may borrow the term ‘bounder.’ But never ‘rakehell.’ That’s mine,” he said without an ounce of guilt. “I’ve earned every letter of the word. But to appease you, I’ll allow you to borrow the title of rake for the amount of time that you kissed me.”
“You make me dizzy with your explanations.” Daphne laughed.
“I always aim to please,” he offered.
Always the consummate under-butler, Tait waited for them inside the front door. “Lady Daphne, welcome home. I was a tad worried.”
“I was detained.” Daphne handed her cloak to Tait and glanced at Paul trying to decide whether to ask him to stay or not. If she did ask him, she’d have to explain her circumstances, a story perhaps best left untold.
With a sheepish smile, Tait bowed. “May I take your coat, Your Grace?”
“Is Lord Pembrooke here?” Paul directed his question to Tait as Paul slipped off his black greatcoat and handed it and his tall beaver hat to the under-butler.
The dark undertones in his deep voice reminded Daphne of a deep mulled wine, one she could savor and never tire of even if he was reading aloud his duchy’s financial reports. Yet this was no time to moon over the man when he was asking for her brother. Before she could answer, Tait stepped in and performed the duty for her.
“Your Grace, Lord and Lady Pembrooke are not available. I’m sorry to add that I’m not certain when they’ll be receiving next. Would you care to leave a card?” Tait’s delivery was every bit as polished as their butler Simms.
Paul raised a dubious brow, making Daphne’s decision easy. After everything they’d shared tonight, she’d tell him the truth of her circumstances. She had little to lose at this point. He might be able to help her, considering he was intimately familiar with the Reynolds.
“Tait, would you mind seeing about some refreshments? His Grace and I will be in the study.”
Chapter Seven
Daphne sat motionless like a porcelain doll. Alex’s desk had captured her full attention. For some insane jealous reason, Paul wanted to bash it into pieces.
“Where exactly are your brother and his wife?” He ignored the gingerbread and tea on the side table. Instead, he sat beside her on the sofa.
“They’re not here,” she said.
“That’s evident, sweetheart. If Pembrooke were here, there wouldn’t be any way he’d allow me to be alone with you like this. Hell’s fury is like a slap from a kitten’s paw when compared to your brother’s wrath.”
She refused to look at him and continued her study of the desk.
He moved closer to her and rested one arm behind her on the sofa’s frame. “When will they return?”
She scooted toward him, and he wanted to cry out in triumph. Daphne Hallworth was comfortable enough with him to lean against him. Gently, he nuzzled the side of her head with his nose. Loosely twisted in an elegant chignon, the midnight-black hair threatened to fall in waves. The hairpins had lost their moorings from the sea of black curls. It was wicked, but he nudged the pins again.
He never claimed to be a saint.
When a couple of pins slipped free, the rest followed, surrendering the fight. All that glorious hair fell in ripples around her shoulders. Her lavender scent rose to greet him.
She turned and blinked slowly.
“I can’t say.”
Unable to resist such beauty, he twisted a handful of hair around his fist, then released it. Like a soft silk river, streams of black ran through his fingers.
Her enchanting eyes widened, and her breathing grew rapid. He wanted to kiss her senseless, but he wrestled his self-control back into some order. He had other concerns, though none as pleasing as her sweet, sensual kisses.
“Sweetheart”—he continued to nestle his nose against her head in hopes of lowering her guard—“you’re lying.”
He must be losing his touch with enticing women, as she bristled and her back straightened.
“I’m not lying,” she protested and gave him her undivided attention.
Well, maybe he hadn’t entirely lost his ability in the charm department. Her interest in the desk had waned.
“Of course you’re not,” he agreed. “I’d call it … an economical use of words or, perhaps, a concise confabulation, a vague vernacular, or a penurious parlance. Each has a nice poetical ring to it.” He trailed his forefinger down her nose.
She pushed his finger away. “You’re calling me dishonest.”
“I would never say something that vile.” He shook his head. “Well, maybe I would, but certainly not about you. Let’s say you’re lacking terminological exactitude when you answer my questions. That has a nice refined quality to it, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her skin was returning to its normal creaminess after being out in the cold, but her cheek color was high. He had little doubt that she’d be glorious to make love to. The thought of all the things he could teach her about pleasure made him exhale in longing. He scooped up another handful of black silk. He was getting bloody hard just from playing with her hair. He could only imagine the frenzy he’d experience if he had her in his bed for a week. A month and they’d have London in flames.
He pushed the pleasurable thoughts aside, as he needed to determine why exactly Daphne found the Reynolds so fascinating that she had to visit it alone.
“Moonbeam, there’s not a single footman in attendance, not a single maid swooning at my feet, and the ubiquitous Simms is nowhere to be found. Now, if the staff is having a Christmas party downstairs, I say let’s join the festivities.”
She gracefully stood, and the defeated slump of her shoulders wrenched an emotion free from the middle of his chest. But it had to be his imagination. He didn’t care about anything but himself. With a huff of breath, he dismissed the odd feeling.
She walked across the large expanse of the study and stared through the French doors that led into a small courtyard surrounding a magnificent fountain. Daphne’s father had commissioned the piece years ago. It brought forth fond memories of warm spring days. He and Alex had played for hours in the fountain as boys. Where had Daphne been? They should have included her. But she’d always been with Alice, reading, painting, embroidering, and doing all the other things girls did with one another.
As he studied her silhouette framed by the door, he experienced an epiphany. Alice had been closer than just a sister—she had been Daphne’s best friend. Just as he mourned Robbie’s passing and the loss of Pembrooke’s friendship, she’d lost Alice.
Without second-guessing his decision, he made quick work of reaching her side. He took her hand and led her back to the fire. She sat without his encouragement, and he joined her on the large navy brocade settee that faced the fire. He laced his fingers with hers. She turned her attention from the fire to him and exhaled—the sound poignant.
Something changed between them in those minutes. Like the stars in perfect alignment, his understanding grew that they both struggled in their losses, and they shared that bond together. Only she was pure and he was nothing but wicked. God, he shouldn’t soil her beauty or pureness with all the sins he’d committed.
“I’m humiliated to speak of it, but you deserve an answer,” she said. The defiant tilt of her chin brought forth memories of her as a hoyden, one who no matter the sacrifice would do what she thought was right—no matter the consequences. She was a woman who would do as she pleased.
He found her beguiling and exceedingly desirable.
But oddly, there was a slight change in her demeanor. She could have been staring at a gallery portrait of a stuffy ancestor, one in the long line of her family, and wondering whether to leave it or store in the attic. The lack of emotion took him aback. It had to be his imagination, but her normal vivaciousness and the ever-present sparkle in her silver eyes had dimmed—just a smidgen.
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding later, I’m not leaving London or this house,” she challenged.
“And you’re telling me this why?” Such an illogical reaction, but he placed their interlaced hands on his thigh. The need to touch her, feel her warmth, was overpowering.
She stared at their hands for a moment. “This morning, my family left to celebrate the holidays without me. Both my mother and brother thought I traveled with the other. Even the servants didn’t realize I was left alone.” Her voice so soft, he strained to hear the words. “My under-butler Tait realized what had happened, as he was the only one left in the house. Earlier, I’d sent my lady’s maid home so she could spend Christmas with her family.” Daphne regarded him as if trying to determine if she could trust him.
“That’s very kind of you. I can’t imagine many ladies who would give their maids the holidays off.” He squeezed her hand. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have her.” She grinned slightly. “Tait’s plans were to spend Christmas with his mother in London. I considered hiring a carriage to take me to Pemhill, but thought I’d wait to see if Alex came back for me. However, I’ve decided to remain in London. I asked Tait if he would stay with me. His mother is here, too.”
His respect for the young under-butler increased dramatically. Loyal, the man had the good sense to stay for his mistress’s safety.
Whatever she studied in the fire must have given her the courage to continue. “I made him promise not to send a note to Alex.”
He couldn’t help but stare at her as a suffocating silence descended. “Why don’t you want Alex to know? You can be at Pemhill by tomorrow’s nightfall. I’ll send a carriage with one of my maids as a chaperone.”
“Stop. You promised not to interfere.”
The firmness in her voice was tinted with something else, perhaps hesitation. Whatever it was, it tore a piece of his heart away. “Daph, I didn’t promise. Pembrooke and Claire are probably worried sick for your safety.”
“They won’t be worried until days later.” The soft light from the candles enhanced the beauty of her hair. “You see, until my mother and the Duke of Renton travel to Pemhill on Christmas Day, no one will know that I’m here. I thought about going to Emma and Somerton, but I forgot they’re traveling to Cambridge.”
“She’s still your best friend?” he asked.
She nodded with her head bent. “She and Somerton will join my mother and his father at Pemhill.”
“Don’t you want to be with your family?” He didn’t hide the incredulity from his voice. If he had the opportunity to spend the holidays with a loving family or with Robbie just one more time, it would take the devil himself to stop him.
“Of course, but now I have to stay in London,” she replied testily.
There was only one reason to stay in town. “Let me guess. It has something to do with the Reynolds.”
She nodded once, and a soulful sigh escaped, one that reminded him she was vulnerable and alone in a big house with only Tait and his mother in attendance. All he wanted to do was gather her in his arms until whatever it was that plagued her never bothered her again.
He wouldn’t let her escape from explaining what was keeping her in London. “Tell me.”
“I was looking for someone, a boy who frequents the establishment.”
“There are no boys there.” He didn’t keep the growl out of his voice. “Only reprobates, scoundrels, rakes—”
�
��You were there,” she challenged.
“Proves my point entirely,” he countered.
“Stop saying such derogatory comments,” she hissed. “You drive me mad with your cavalier attitude and the way you belittle yourself. You’re so much more than that.”
For once, he didn’t have a “cavalier” response. No, she’d rendered him speechless. She couldn’t actually think of him any other way than as a scoundrel, could she?
“Let me continue, please.” She lifted her chin.
Good God, “magnificent” was the only word to describe her when her pique was high.
“The majordomo explained the boy I’m looking for is a street urchin about ten or so. He spends his time in the kitchen.” She stood silent for a moment, then squared her shoulders. “I must find him.”
“Why?” he asked.
She stared at the floor and didn’t answer.
“Does this have something to do with the Duchess of Langham and Claire’s charities for orphans?” He strolled to the Robert Adam side table that held Alex’s liquor selection. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head. “I should have offered you one earlier.”
Once she started this story, she’d undoubtedly need a calming drink.
There was little doubt he would. Searching the selection, he found the bottle of his father’s favorite brandy. The sight caused a smile to tug at his lips. In retaliation for his father hitting him, Paul had stolen one from the Southart estate and given it to Alex. After all the years, Alex still possessed it. Choosing another bottle, he poured a fingerful of brandy for both of them, then walked to her side. “I poured one for you.”
Without taking the drink, Daphne recounted her story. As the last words melted into silence, she stood before the fire with her back facing him.
“A reticule is hardly worth ruining your reputation, Moonbeam.” He used her nickname to put her at ease.
Finally, she turned to face him, and he almost dropped both glasses at the sight. The ashes in the fireplace possessed more color than her face.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
The Good, the Bad, and the Duke Page 8